Since I was eight months old, my family has been going on vacation to Provincetown, Massachusetts. Some describe Provincetown as “Gay Mecca,” as it is notorious for its status as a resort town for the LGBT community. When I was three, I was an avid fan of Barbies, as many three-year-old girls are, have been, and will be. At the time, there was a drag queen show entitled “Big Boned Barbies.” I was ecstatic. One of my favorite toys had been manifested as a real-live human!
“Mom, can we go meet them?” I asked, as the drag queens in the show were advertising for the show on the street.
“Sure,” my mother said, and we walked hand-in-hand over to the sequined divas.
When they saw me, they flamboyantly shouted, “Oh, she is SO cute! Do you want a sticker, honey?” I smiled and nodded.
They talked with my mother and me. They told us about how Mattel was upset with them for using the name “Barbie” and using the color “Barbie pink,” as those things are trademarked. My mother exclaimed, “Oh, please. Nobody owns the color pink!” and we laughed.
I tugged on my mother’s sleeve. She knelt down to me and asked me what I wanted. I asked her, “Mom, why are the Barbie’s voices so deep? They sound like men.” My mother simply said, “Well, honey, they are men, they just like to play dress up.” My response to this? “Oh, that’s nice!”
I still have the flyer for “Big Boned Barbies” hanging in my room, along with the sticker given to me by the friendly drag queens. This is one of my fondest childhood memories.
Another time when I was three or four, on a beach in Provincetown, we happened to witness a lesbian wedding. In this particular wedding, one of the women wore a dress, and the other a tuxedo. I watched quietly, drinking it in. Finally, I turned to my parents and announced, “When I get married, I think I’d like to wear the dress and not the suit. But I’m not sure. I might like the suit better.” My parents laughed.
When I was in Boston, at age four, I saw a man spray painting a wall across the street from where I walked hand-in-hand with my aunt. I pointed to him and said, “Look, auntie, he’s painting!”
Once, again when I was aged three or four, I met an Orthodox Jewish family at a lake in New Hampshire. I swam and built dams with the sons, who were around my same age. I later expressed to my parents, “I liked the long curly hair on the side of their faces. Can we do that with our hair?”
Part of my philosophy is that every person on this planet is exactly equal, from they second they’re born to the second they die, and a person can’t do anything to alter their equality. Nobody is “better” or “worse.” You will never hear me say somebody is a “good person” or “bad person.” I will say I agree or disagree with their decisions.
I consider myself to be a non-judgmental person. My parents raised me that way. My parents raised me to accept all people, no matter what their skin color, sexual orientation, religion, or anything else may be. One family friend of ours once thanked my mother for raising me without hate.
Even though I consider myself to be a non-judgmental person, I judge everybody to a certain extent. We all do that, don’t we? I mean, think about it. I know that when I meet guys with lisps and effeminate mannerisms, the voice in my head asks, “is he gay?” Or when I see teenage boys walking around in a big group wearing black hoodies I usually think, “wow, those guys must be trying to look tough. They look stupid.” Or when I see a girl in a tight, short skirt and low-cut top, I think, “she’s probably a total slut.” I’m pretty sure we all think things like that, whether it’s conscious or subconscious.
When you’re a little kid, you don’t see that. You don’t see two men holding hands and think to yourself, “they’re gay.” You see people. You don’t see a girl with short hair playing football or acting masculine and think, “I bet she’s a lesbian.” You just see a girl. You don’t think to label people as one thing or another. The way a small child sees it, people are people.
This is a beautiful time. This is the least judgmental time of our lives.
The parents of the child usually have the biggest influence on altering the child’s mindset. Parents teach their kids what’s “bad” or “good.” Parents initially show the child how to think of certain people. Then outside influences teach them more. Teachers, friends, acquaintances, family, other people out on the street, all help shape a child’s ideas.
It is my firm belief that parents should do the best they can to maintain the child’s mindset that people are people. We should not raise the future generations to hate certain groups or judge groups.
I understand there will always be hatred and judgment. But we can at least try to teach children to treat all other people with respect and dignity. We can help shape this future generation to be more accepting.
“Mom, can we go meet them?” I asked, as the drag queens in the show were advertising for the show on the street.
“Sure,” my mother said, and we walked hand-in-hand over to the sequined divas.
When they saw me, they flamboyantly shouted, “Oh, she is SO cute! Do you want a sticker, honey?” I smiled and nodded.
They talked with my mother and me. They told us about how Mattel was upset with them for using the name “Barbie” and using the color “Barbie pink,” as those things are trademarked. My mother exclaimed, “Oh, please. Nobody owns the color pink!” and we laughed.
I tugged on my mother’s sleeve. She knelt down to me and asked me what I wanted. I asked her, “Mom, why are the Barbie’s voices so deep? They sound like men.” My mother simply said, “Well, honey, they are men, they just like to play dress up.” My response to this? “Oh, that’s nice!”
I still have the flyer for “Big Boned Barbies” hanging in my room, along with the sticker given to me by the friendly drag queens. This is one of my fondest childhood memories.
Another time when I was three or four, on a beach in Provincetown, we happened to witness a lesbian wedding. In this particular wedding, one of the women wore a dress, and the other a tuxedo. I watched quietly, drinking it in. Finally, I turned to my parents and announced, “When I get married, I think I’d like to wear the dress and not the suit. But I’m not sure. I might like the suit better.” My parents laughed.
When I was in Boston, at age four, I saw a man spray painting a wall across the street from where I walked hand-in-hand with my aunt. I pointed to him and said, “Look, auntie, he’s painting!”
Once, again when I was aged three or four, I met an Orthodox Jewish family at a lake in New Hampshire. I swam and built dams with the sons, who were around my same age. I later expressed to my parents, “I liked the long curly hair on the side of their faces. Can we do that with our hair?”
Part of my philosophy is that every person on this planet is exactly equal, from they second they’re born to the second they die, and a person can’t do anything to alter their equality. Nobody is “better” or “worse.” You will never hear me say somebody is a “good person” or “bad person.” I will say I agree or disagree with their decisions.
I consider myself to be a non-judgmental person. My parents raised me that way. My parents raised me to accept all people, no matter what their skin color, sexual orientation, religion, or anything else may be. One family friend of ours once thanked my mother for raising me without hate.
Even though I consider myself to be a non-judgmental person, I judge everybody to a certain extent. We all do that, don’t we? I mean, think about it. I know that when I meet guys with lisps and effeminate mannerisms, the voice in my head asks, “is he gay?” Or when I see teenage boys walking around in a big group wearing black hoodies I usually think, “wow, those guys must be trying to look tough. They look stupid.” Or when I see a girl in a tight, short skirt and low-cut top, I think, “she’s probably a total slut.” I’m pretty sure we all think things like that, whether it’s conscious or subconscious.
When you’re a little kid, you don’t see that. You don’t see two men holding hands and think to yourself, “they’re gay.” You see people. You don’t see a girl with short hair playing football or acting masculine and think, “I bet she’s a lesbian.” You just see a girl. You don’t think to label people as one thing or another. The way a small child sees it, people are people.
This is a beautiful time. This is the least judgmental time of our lives.
The parents of the child usually have the biggest influence on altering the child’s mindset. Parents teach their kids what’s “bad” or “good.” Parents initially show the child how to think of certain people. Then outside influences teach them more. Teachers, friends, acquaintances, family, other people out on the street, all help shape a child’s ideas.
It is my firm belief that parents should do the best they can to maintain the child’s mindset that people are people. We should not raise the future generations to hate certain groups or judge groups.
I understand there will always be hatred and judgment. But we can at least try to teach children to treat all other people with respect and dignity. We can help shape this future generation to be more accepting.
Post a Comment
Be the first to comment on this article!